Some Smothering Dreams
by Telekenisis.in.action
Summary: Lord Voldemort has grown tired of waiting for his incompetent Death Eaters to capture Harry Potter. In his impatience, he forces the help of a mythical force he doesn't quite understand... DH compliant. Canon couples. OC's
1. Chapter 1

**So... here goes the first attempt at a multi-chaptered fic! Hope you like/ don't hate my OC's. The story is pretty complex, but I'll be happy to answer anyone's questions about any of the characters or the future plot... GRRR... i love me some shape-shifters in the morning! I'm not entirely sure where this fic is going, but I'll be happy to take suggestions. **

**On with the show!**

Prologue:

His pupils dilate as he stares unseeing at the frozen ground, snowflakes falling slowly over his twitching form. Dark hair lies unkempt over sleek eyebrows, spreading out on the white snow like an ink stain. His breath is harsh as it billows out of his lungs, meeting the freezing air and turning white against the sky. Little gasps escape his lips, punctuating the quiet around him with pain. A brown paper bag has spilt its groceries near his outstretched, spasming hand.

It hasn't hurt like this in _years._

He muses quietly to himself that he ought to have known. He should've fucking _known_ that this would happen. Sure, he'd read the news recently, those stupid moving newspapers that had always given him the creeps, but he's heard something important had been happening in the world.

Something to do with a boy, he supposes, but his thoughts are cut off by another burst of pain through his body. His mouth opens in a silent scream as the Shift comes over him for the first time in bloody years. His broad back pushes through the confines of his jacket and he cringes as it rips along the seam, the noise burning in his ears. _I'm going to be sick._

He throws up as his ribcage bursts open and together again, dry heaving by the time his hands form into paws, bones snapping and tendons shifting to their new places.

He finishes the Shift breathing heavily, wide mouth open and tongue lolling between razor sharp teeth. Standing upon shaking legs, he tosses his head as though shaking off water and sneezes sharply into the snow, blowing snowflakes back into the air. He stares longingly at his ruined clothes, nudging them sadly with a long snout.

He hears a call through the wind and whines because he knows the owner of that voice and dreads it with all his soul. When he doesn't move the call comes louder, more insistent and pulls on his body, tugging him away. He bristles at the control the voice has over him and begins to trot across the snow, black eyes set angrily on the forest in front of him.

As soon as he hits the tree line he breaks into a run, long black legs outstretched. He reaches a small clearing and slows to a walk, hackles rising at the many hooded figures standing between the trees. He walks to the center and Shifts back to human, wrapping thickly muscled arms over his naked chest in anger. The other figures in the clearing avert their eyes, coughing awkwardly at the sight of his bare body and his cavalier display of it.

"Bloody Christ!" he exclaims angrily in his deep, rich voice, his mouth turned down in a frown, "Did you really have to do that? Can't you folks use a phone, or a fax or something? Is that beyond you? I've ruined a very nice coat, d'you realize, and dropped me groceries!" He stands defiantly, heedless of the cold, bare feet planted firmly in the snow. Compared to the other figures in the clearing he is a giant, and he seems to recognize the physical advantage he has over the Death Eaters. Worse than that, he can smell them all around him, and one particular scent makes him smile. There are still those who can help him, and now they are close enough to be of use. He opens one of his hands wide as he continues to sprout nonsense about dropping his groceries and makes a single, hidden gesture. Someone in the circle around him coughs in a familiar voice and his is assured that his message is received.

"Yes, yes, Mr. L'Antico, I'm sure it was absolutely devastating." The new voice is low and hissing and emerges from a pale mouth. He squints dark eyes to regard the person in front of him. The scent is familiar, but the features are not.

"Tom? Is that you? What the bloody hell did you do to your face? You look… different." _Not to mention crazy_.

"It's Voldemort now, L'Antico, but that's beside the point. I hope you'll remember our little arrangement from a few years ago, yes?"

He nods a dark head in assent, fists clenching in silent anger. Memories long buried resurface into violent images that cause him to shudder.

"Arrangement is hardly what I'd call it, Riddle." His voice has taken a darker edge; a slower, older accent slipping past his lips, dripping with fury.

Voldemort smiles, pleased at the violent response he's elicited, and steeples his fingers, resting their points on his pale lips.

"Well, then. I expect you to find a boy for me. He's not on the Trace anymore, and they're using protective spells, I'm sure of it."

L'Antico's dark eyes close and he breathes out slowly. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't need to. It's not a request and he knows it.

He holds out a palm to the Dark Lord, expectant. Voldemort raises a non-existent eyebrow. "What?"

"I need something of his, Riddle." He spits through clenched teeth, "Something to track him by."

Voldemort nods and reaches into his robes, pulling out a white feather and a square of cloth. As he hands it to L'Antico, he grabs his thick wrist in a bony hand and pulls him close.

" This is a feather of the boy's little pet owl and a bit of his shirt," he lisps into L'Antico's ear, "When you get him, bring him to me. _Straight_ to me, you understand? What you do with the other two that are with him is your business, but I want the boy and I want him _alive._"

L'Antico inclines his dark head in reluctant assent and grips the objects in his hand. He presses them to his nose and inhales deeply, eyelids sliding closed as the scent winds its way into his memory.

A moment of silence and he removes his hand from his face and releases its contents. The feather flutters slowly towards the ground, landing and becoming invisible against the snow.

He turns away and walks to the edge of the clearing. He looks back at Voldemort and wonders how he got to this point, his black eyes deep and endless.

"Tom," he says, in a falsely tired voice, "This is it, right? We're done after this. You'll let them go." His deep voice is layered with an invisible threat. He'd been waiting for this chance to slip back into the old ways. Riddle didn't know anything if he though that he could order L'Antico around, and a plan was already forming in his head.

Voldemort smiles falsely, "Of course."

And the naked man's body twists into a black wolf and runs out of the clearing.

**Hope you enjoyed! I know it's a bit short, but the next chapter is already finished, so I should have it in by tomorrow**


	2. While You Were Sleeping

**Second... (well, first, technically) chappie up!**

Dark eyes watch calmly from the fringe of the forest as he regards the empty clearing that the girl had just charmed to hide their tent. He can't see them, of course, their magic prevents anyone from seeing them, but he has other senses. He can smell the three humans in their little tent; can practically taste the scent of bacon in the air. Of course, the three of them aren't actually cooking bacon in their tent, but someone once did, and the lingering scent makes his mouth water. Oh, to eat. After three days running after their scent he finally feels the ache in his stomach.

He can hear their soft, murmuring voices and crouches forward to hear more clearly:

"C'mon, Hermione! I'm starving!" The voice is male, deep but with a hint of lingering adolescence and a Devonshire accent. He can smell the Weasley blood thick in the air around the tent and assumes it's owned by the redheaded clan.

"Yes, well, _Ronald,_ you're always starving, so I suppose you'll just have to wait, won't you?" Female, young, refined voice, but he can't get a fix on her blood, Must not be a wizarding family; maybe a… what was the word Riddle used? Mudblood? In any case, wizard blood didn't run in her veins. Hormones, however, were rampant and the amount of lust circulating in the vicinity of the tent makes him smile.

He chuckles from his position in the bushes, reveling in the normalcy of their conversation. Relationships were all the same, no matter the circumstances, no matter the topic.

A memory-flash of a twist of hair spiraling over a smooth shoulder. A wink thrown over said shoulder. A sudden pain in his chest. He shudders and claps a huge hand on the scarred tissue over his heart.

He massages the skin with shaking fingers, mild discomfort spelled in the curves of his eyebrows, the painful sheen in his eyes.

"Last time, mate, last time," he mumbles with renewed focus on his mission. He directs his useless words at the spot over his chest, promising himself that he's going to finish this, once and for all.

He rises fluidly from his crouch, standing at his full height and shaking out his limbs, warming his muscles. The forest jumps around him at his movement, having become accustomed to his stillness in the past hours. Small birds spring from the bushes around him and a deer bounds away through the trees.

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, breathing slowly out his nose. He closes his eyes in concentration. His eyelids flutter once, twice, and without any sort of warning he disappears into the brush like a trap door has been opened beneath his feet.

A bird caws in the renewed silence and bushes rustle as a black dog strides out of the brush. He trots over to a tiny stream and cranes his neck at the flow, inspecting himself in its reflection. He has no need to, of course, as he has assumed this particular shape far too many times to count. Still, he enjoys his own reflection, and it's a useful tool incase he needs to tweak something.

He is a beautiful dog, big and heavily muscular under his shining black coat. Some things, he supposes as the sunlight exaggerates the dips and curves of his impressive musculature, cannot be changed. As he contemplates his image, he considers quickly that any dog out in the wild wouldn't look so clean as he. He rocks his shoulders like dogs do to rid their coats of water and his shiny fur grows coarse and ratty, his heavy muscles weaning and streamlining, exposing ribs. His ear has bites taken out of it, making his face seem lopsided and cheerful.

He rolls in the dirt by the stream until his fur stands up on end in some places and his black fur is made lighter by the dust it's covered in. His tongue lolls and he wheezes a laugh as he regards himself in the sluggish water.

He looks, well, _cute._

"Uh, Hermione? Ron? Could you… come here for a bit?"

"Uh-uh. Wer e'thing."

Hermione wrestles a loose lock of hair back into her ponytail and shoots a look at Ron, chastising him both for speaking with his mouth full and for being rude with tight lips and stern eyes. Ron gulps down his oatmeal, eyes wide, and pops out of his seat like a piece of toast, Hermione close behind him.

"Comin'!" Ron arrives beside Harry and skids to a stop, throwing out an arm to stop Hermione before she gets any closer to the _thing_ that's currently sitting outside their tent, staring at them.

Hermione, predictably, gasps at his attempt to protect her and shoves at his shoulder.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you two, it's just a dog."

Ron throws up his arms, "A bloody enormous dog! What if it's got rabies or something? That thing could kill us!"

"How did it even get past the wards, Hermione?" Harry questions, his eyes never leaving the brownish-black mess in front of them.

"The wards only protect against _wizards_. Not dogs. Honestly, don't you two know _anything_ about wards? At all?"

Ron is suddenly torn between being mindful of the dog and being mindful she doesn't see the tightness in his trousers. He can't think of anything to say back to her when she talks like that. It's bloody unfair, really. He knows he should be angry, retaliate or something. But _really_, it wasn't fair at all.

"Well, still…" he struggles though the loss of blood to his brain, "What if it's got rabies?"

Hermione considers the dog for a second. Its ears perk up when it sees her watching, but it doesn't seem threatening.

"Look, Ronald, it would've attacked us by now if it had rabies. Besides, it's kind of… cute."

Harry and Ron turn in synchronization to stare at her in amazement. Hermione call something cute? It was so…. girlish of her, so not Hermione.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asks, "Had enough to eat today?"

"Yes, why?"

He shakes his head viciously, "Oh, no reason." And looks away hurriedly.

Hermione crosses her arms, "What? You two don't think he's cute? Look at him."

And they do. The dog is big, blackish-brownish, with very, very dirty matted fur that sticks out in all directions. It stares at them in a cheerful manner, tongue lolling to one side, and it's got a bite taken out of one of its ears.

It is, startlingly, very cute.

**Unknown POV**

He approaches the first human as it's about to step out of the tent, possibly to stand guard or something. Actually, he knows it's time for them to change guards because he's been watching them for the past seven hours. He brings the scent of a downy white feather to the forefront of his mind and allows the boy's scent to circulate in his brain. Yes, this is the one, he is certain. The Potter boy stands in front of him, eyes wide at the sight of him.

He settles directly in front of the entrance as to prevent anyone from going in or out and regards the Potter boy with mild disinterest.

The Potter boy calls back into the tent for his friends and he hears a rustling as they make it to the entrance. First the tall, skinny Weasley, then…

The breath whooshes out of his lungs as the unidentifiable girl he had heard earlier runs straight into the redhead's elbow. It's the hair that gets him, wild and frizzing out of control, twisting about her face in a way that's _so exactly right_ it makes his teeth ache. But his gaze drifts to her eyes and the moment is lost, gone forever. They're brown, ordinary, not the blue-bottle color he was expecting. The face is wrong too, the figure too lean, but that _hair_. It drudges up memories he'd rather not think about.

He realizes with a bit of a shock that they've been talking this whole time, about him, too.

"How did it even get past the wards, Hermione?"

The responding answer is sharp and biting, and he laughs a bit when he smells the Weasley's reaction to her bossiness. He knows exactly what that tone of voice did to _him_ when it was directed at his stupidity, so very long ago, and he sympathizes. Sort of. The hormones make him a little sick to his stomach, actually.

"Well…still. What if it's got rabies?" Weasley insists, but he can see how hard it is for the boy to formulate a sentence to the girl. Especially, he snickers internally, when one's got one's blood rushing places one doesn't want them to go in front of said girl.

_Ah, to be young once more._

Then the girl turns her eyes on him. He perks his ears and carefully rearranges his features from mocking to cheerful. He nudges a bit at her mind too, just to… secure her affections, as it were.

"He's kind of… cute." She proclaims and his tail thumps once on the ground in his pleasure. Right. Good. Phew, fucking _knew_ adorable was the way to go.

The boys stare at her, jaws open in surprise, and he can't help but think that maybe he pushed her a bit _too_ far. Perhaps he should've toned it down a bit.

But, to his surprise, it works like a charm and soon the girl walks up to him and pats his head. He plays it up a little, leaning into her hand and wagging his tail forcefully. His long pink tongue sneaks out to lick her and she giggles, cooing at him and scratching his fur.

"C'mon," she says, looking at the boys, "Look at him. He's friendly." She scratches behind his ears, "Who's a good doggy?"

He yaps in affirmation and rolls over onto his back, exposing his belly and looking upside down at the two boys who are just approaching to play with the doggy.

_That's right, suckers. Play with the cute puppy._

And he revels in his success as he rolls in the cool grass.

**Later that night…..**

The night is still and quiet outside, the tent is dark. Crickets chirp loudly in the grass and an owl hoots once, twice.

Black eyes snap open, almost glowing in their darkness.

He raises his head from the floor silently, his ears alert and focused. In this light his form has lost its shaggy, adorable appearance. In the darkness, curled beside the foot of Hermione's bed, he looks dangerous. His internal clock tells him that they'll be changing the guard soon. The time is now.

A paw touches the ground. He's walking so slowly that his muscles ache but not a single noise escapes him. The ground is cold under his paws but firm, and his eyes are trained on the Potter boy's bed. He briefly considers how he'll pull this off: _Let the boy scream once so that the others hear him. Take your time getting to the door so that they find a way to keep you captive. Take any blows they throw at you._

Step by step, he reaches it. He prepares himself.

A tent flap flutters.

Footsteps.

_Good. Weasley's coming in._

He rears into human form and clamps an enormous hand down on the Potter boy's neck. The boy wakes instantly, shrieking once before he can breathe no longer.

The girl jumps from her bed, a stick in her hand, and the Weasley bursts into the room, roaring.

He lifts Potter easily and holds him in front of his body, choking him with a heavy forearm.

"Everybody stop right there!" he shouts, his rich voice booming through the small room. "I'll kill him, I swear I will." The accent he has tried so hard to cover is thick through his lips and garbles the simple words. He won't, really, but the important thing is that the humans believe him.

The girl says something and a flash of blue light envelopes his arm. He stares at her in the stunned silence that ensues.

"You- I- that was a body-binding spell!" she exclaims, flabbergasted.

He nearly rolls his eyes, but he has other things to do, more important things to finish. She squeaks in fear as he pushes her aside.

He starts to walk to the door, slowly of course, dragging Potter's struggling body with him when Weasley steps directly in front of him.

He nearly laughs. _As if you could stop me._ But he pretends to be stalled and panicked.

"How the hell did you get in here?" The Weasley boy yells loudly, and he catches a movement in the reflection of Weasley's bright blue eyes and startles. The girl is standing behind him, a huge tome held in her small hands. _A book_ he notes, _that's new._ He cringes a little bit at the impending pain of such a heavy novel but remembers his plan.

_THUNK_

He shouts in pain as something connects forcefully with his skull, bowling him forward. He struggles to reach the entrance as his vision darkens. In his last moments, he imagines a soft face and fluttering lashes.

He vaguely registers the pain in his knees as he falls to the floor, and his world goes black.


	3. Looking From the Abyss

**I realised just yesterday that I'd forgotten to put a disclaimer on any of my work... Well, here goes:**

**-None of this belongs to me except Tobias, Emily, some plot bunnies, and a bit of dried fruit. JKR owns the rest. -**

**Enjoy.**

**Unknown POV**

He emerges from the blackness in pain. True, his body has suffered far more through the years than a head-smashing from a book could deliver, but the pain is constant and annoying all the same. He stays a while in the darkness of his own body's imminent awakening, drifting lazily through the abyss between waking and sleep, a place where the pain and grief from old memories was numbed into oblivion. It is almost pleasant. But he knows it's not to last, and his mind breaks the surface of consciousness with a sound akin to a scream the world rushing into place around him in a sensory jumble. He retreats into the darkness once more to regroup.

More prepared now, he stretches the limbs of his consciousness out into the world, testing the waters around him. All is calm now that his is able to filter, and he begins the process of waking into the world.

He bends his newfound awareness to his body first, stretching his feeling over the bones of his body down to his toes. His skin tingles a bit around the tender area of his skull, but otherwise he can find nothing wrong. His ankles and wrists are numb, however, and he takes that to mean that he's been tied up. He can feel dirt pressed solidly along the length of his side and the stretch in his neck as it bends his cheek to the earth.

Bodily check complete, he returns his attentions to the outside world. Smell comes first. The sharp scent of dirt and grass winds its way through his nostrils, bringing with it the acrid stench of fear and nervous excitement. Warm bodies rank with frightened sweat invade the space around him and the hemp chord wrapped tightly around his wrists stinks of mildew.

He can taste blood in his mouth and his tongue is sore but all teeth seem present and accounted for. They're breathing around him, watching, he's sure of it. As he prepares to open his eyes he becomes aware of the fact that they've draped something over his naked body. Humans and their impracticality. They could've killed him in the time that it took to cover him up. It wouldn't have worked, of course (the killing) but still.

Long black lashes separate and the world comes into blurry focus. All he can see is a mass of pink. He groans and reels backwards to better see it, but pain explodes onto his cheek as a dark brown blob comes down upon his face.

He moans and tucks his face into thickly muscled arms. "Bloody CHRIST!" he yells into the safety of his chest. "What the hell! Would you people stop hitting me?"

There is a gasp from somewhere behind him and the room is silent for a couple of seconds. He slowly raises his head out from beneath the safety of his arms and squints. The room is sideways, and a pair of smelly grey trainers are inches from his nose. He looks up the long distance to Weasley's face, pale beneath the freckles. Turning onto his side affords him the view of the Potter boy and the girl. They stare down at him, eyes wide and chests heaving in fear.

Something pinches into his skull from the side and he turns to see Weasley's been prodding him with his foot. He growls low in his chest but withholds himself; the goal of this foolish plan is far too important to compromise over animalistic pride. However, he can still feel the deep-seated anger through his bones at the disrespectful gesture.

"OK, stranger. Tell us what the hell you're doing here or we'll Avada Kedavra your ass."

Dark brows come together in confusion, "Wha…" he clears his throat and spits red onto the floor, "What are you talking about? Avada Ka-what my ass?"

**Ron POV:**

"HARRY!" Ron is roaring as he drags Harry out from under the man's heavy arm. He's still breathing, thank God, but he's sputtering and coughing. Ron looks over him at Hermione, who is holding the largest book she owns over her head, her face frozen with fear. His heart clenches as he remembers rushing into the tent to find her facing a man-sized shadow with no Harry to protect her. He steps over Harry and gently removes the book from her clenched hands. " Good thinking, Hermione," he says softly, "I mean, that was really quick."

She looks at him with wide brown eyes and he wants to hold her and protect her forever.

"Nothing happened, Ron." She whispers, her eyes glued to the unconscious man on the ground. She breaks her gaze and locks eyes with Ron, "I-I hit him with a body-bind, perfectly and nothing happened. At all. He didn't even pause." Brown eyes search his, "What is he, Ron?"

All three of them, including Harry, who is still coughing, stare down at their fallen foe. He's enormous, taller than Ron and twice as broad, his skin tanned and firm over prodidous musculature. He lies face down in the dirt, black hair sleek and thick over his one outstretched arm. He's naked, and his fair skin is covered with ropy scars and dirt. Between his shoulder blades lies a faded tattoo, swirling shortly down his spine.

He stirs and they spring into action, binding his arms and legs with some old hemp chord Hermione found in the kitchen. At one point they have to turn him on his side and Ron covers him with a blanket, fearing for Hermione's modesty. He doesn't think she would mind, of course, but the fact that she would see a naked male who wasn't him made Ron very uncomfortable.

They stand around him for what seems like hours, (though it only could've been a couple of minutes) when the man's eyes snap open. Surprised at the movement, Ron has a second to register that the eyes are black before he brings a book crashing down on the man's face. The man yells and curls up, placing his face between large biceps, "Bloody CHRIST!" he screams in a dark, rich voice, "What the hell! Would you people stop hitting me?"

**Unknown POV**

"You know, keeping me tied up isn't going to do any good." They stare at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity at the statement. Perhaps they're afraid that he'll break the ropes (Which he will) or run away (which he will) or kill one of them (Which he might, if they keep hitting him.)

They've allowed him to sit up now, and he leans against a couch to regard them with his dark eyes, bound hands folded in his blanketed lap. He knows exactly how to frighten humans the most, but he's not utilizing it. It's all part of the plan: Scare them too much, and they'll kill him. Scare them too little and they'll leave him behind. Either option is unacceptable.

The Weasley boy is the most hostile towards him and he understands the hostility, returning it in his own way. He's never liked being around males who haven't yet claimed their females; they're irritable and jealous. It's the girl that he'll have to win over if he wants to stay in their good graces. He's not necessarily looking forward to it: flirting is definitely not his forte and he dislikes women who are more than ten centuries his junior... It makes him feel pretty creepy.

"Who are you?" Weasley begins the interrogation, his voice low and menacing. It's a good tactic, he must admit, but it doesn't scare someone as large as he. He pauses for a moment, considering how to answer. He needs to be dangerous to them, but unrelated to their enemies so that they'll keep him around.

"Tobias." He pronounces it strangely, as Tob-ee-as, the way the Spanish do. Weasley narrows blue eyes, "Is that a first or last name?"

"First."

"What's your surname?"

He shrugs massive shoulders, "Don't have one. They call me Tobias L'Antico, but that's a title, not a name."

"What's it mean?"

Tobias grows tired of the questions and decides to rile Weasley up for a bit of fun.

"Means 'kiss my ass' in French."

He grins through the blood when Weasley punches him in the face. The girl rushes over and grabs Weasley's arm. "Ron, no." Tobias makes a kissing sound at Weasley's red face.

"She's got you on a pret-ty tight leash there, bucko."

"You a Death Eater?" Ron ignores him.

"Don't know what that is." He's lying, of course; he does know what a Death Eater is, but it doesn't seem like a good idea to admit it.

"Don't lie to me, motherfucker, or I'll break your nose."

Tobias laughs, "I'd love to see you try. Really, though, I've no idea what you're on about."

"Why are you here?"

Tobias arches a sleek eyebrow, "I should ask you the same question."

"W'cha mean by that?"

He glowers as he lies through his teeth to make them believe him, wrapping false power and majesty over his form like a cloak. He's been working on this story throughout the conversation but he hasn't gotten very far. He tries to shoot for vague and mysterious to keep them nervous. It's not an easy part to play, but lying comes naturally to shape-shifters, and he's had simply _eons_ to practice.

He opens his clasped hands in an explanation, "I own these woods. It's not often that people come to pass through it."

Ron considers his words, "We hit you with a spell," he says quietly, "It didn't affect you the way it does other people. Why?"

Tobias shrugs, "I don't know much about magic,"(he's lying, of course) "But I expect it didn't work because I'm not human. Things are different depending on the species."

"What are you then?"

He glares, dark eyes challenging for a second before he considers something: he knows, for the moment, that pretending he can't harm them isn't a smart idea. He wants them to take him when they move again, and to do that he has to seem threatening. He wants them to feel like they need to keep an eye on him. Thus resolved, he casts his dark eyes on Harry and twists his face to recognititon. It's a deliberate feint to get them off the subject of his species, which he feels to be privileged information.

"Say…" he cocks his head to the side, "You look awful familiar." He pauses to let his words sink in, taking a predatory pride in the way their breathing quickens, the subtle dilation of their pupils. They begin to reek of fear.

"A man came to see me with a strange face. He said I should look out for you." He turns to malice to spike their growing panic, "Something about a reward, he said. You wouldn't happen to be on the run, would you?" And smiles, dripping evil.

He is rewarded for his hard work with a backhand to the face, "I knew you were talking to him, you bastard," Ron accuses, a wand clenched tight in his fist.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about. I've no way of communicating with whoever it is anyway, I don't make a habit of talking to humans no matter how much money is involved." He is sure to waver his voice a little while proclaiming this to further their doubt. Better to have them distrust him.

"Yeah? What's this? Looks like magic to me." Weasley reaches over and tugs on the chain hanging from Tobias' neck. It's nearly invisible against his tanned skin, the golden chain so thin it could be a thread. At the base hangs a single, tiny, eight-pointed star with a blue globe in the center. Tobias' laughing expression vanishes. Suddenly, he feels he has lost the advantage, and all thoughts of his careful planning fly through the window. The tug on the chain reminded him that it hung there, and his chest constricts through the painful, visceral reaction his body has to to memories.

"Don't touch that." His voice is dark and serious, his old accent slipping through. Weasley's hand falters, then surges with power. He tears the necklace off and Tobias roars. The space inside his head is no longer calm and in control; his thoughts bash wildly against his skull and tangle with long-buried instincts. He tries to force back the bitter taste of the animal rising in his throat. He is too goddamn old to Shift in front of a bunch of teenagers over a necklace. Still, the internal battle rages and his body goes still in his concentration.

Weasley dangles it in front of his face. Dark eyes look past the star's swing and bore furiously into Weasley's skull, ripe with the promise of pain and death.

"What is it?" Weasley whispers dangerously, swelling with his advantage. Hermione in the background clenches her teeth at Tobias' expression. She doesn't know what exactly is happening, but Ron's gone too far, somehow.

A muscle jumps in Tobias' cheek and he growls low in his chest. He's losing control of the animal. Weasley looks startled at the sound and involuntarily shifts backwards.

"Give it back." Tobias' voice is hard to understand, his tongue isn't operating in English anymore in his fury, and his teeth are clenched so tightly that his words can't find their way out.

"Why? So you can call your Dark Lord?"

"I said give it back to me!" and Tobias lunges forward, his bound arms striking Weasley upside the jaw and clasping the necklace in one fell swoop. Weasley reels backwards, his hands covering his face, blood from his newly broken nose dripping through his fingers, and the Potter boy starts forward, book in hand. He barely has time to shut his eyes before his neck is jerked violently to the side and he spins away into oblivion.

** And there you have it: another chapter of complete confusion. I hope that the time jumps aren't too terribly confusing for anyone, and again I'm quite happy to explain the entire story if you need clarification.**


End file.
